Growing Up: Autobot
by SheWasFlying
Summary: Jazz's spark clung to life. To save their dying friend, Ratchet and Optimus try to trick the Allspark into restoring Jazz's spark energy. It does more than that. Now, thanks to the Allspark, the Autobots need to brush up on their parenting skills. . .


**A/N:** This chapter is actually the first half of what was once a oneshot. When I reread this three year old story (I lost the flash drive it was saved on in '08. It was my favorite flash drive. :( Found it yesterday in my desk drawer. . . the gremlins must have returned it. . . .) it bred many plot bunnies. So it's gonna be a rather long multi chapter fanfiction.

. . . I really enjoy bringing Jazz back from the dead. There is so much that you can do with that concept. In fact, I don't see why there aren't a lot more of these running around. They're just so much fun!

Also, before you begin reading, I would like to warn you that I am absolutely terrible at updating. Look at my other stories; they haven't been updated in years. *cringe* I apologize in advance. _But_, I've already got half of the second chapter done, so I might update sometime next week. Just fyi.

Enjoy!

**Timeline: **This story takes place immediately after the 2007 Transformers movie. Revenge of the Fallen and Dark of the Moon will not come into play here. Oh, how I despise those two.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothin', man.

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><p><strong>Growing Up: Autobot<strong>

The Allspark was a curious thing. Studied by few, revered by many, and understood by none, the Allspark held a power that equaled, if not surpassed, that of the ancient Primus. It belonged to all Cybertronians in a spiritual sense, and yet it belonged to no one. No one Cybertronian could claim the bizarre archaic as his own; to do so would be foolish, because no one possessed the power to gain control over it. It was impossible to control the Allspark's remarkable powers, though many had tried and failed miserably.

Wars had been fought over it, each one seemingly endless as it raged destruction upon the planet of Cybertron. The last and most devastating war, involving the most recent factions of Cybertronians (Autobots and Decepticons) had utterly destroyed Cybertron. In a desperate attempt to save the Allspark from the wicked hands of Megatron, the Autobots launched it into space. It was lost to them for well over a millennia.

Optimus Prime held what was left of the great, powerful, and mystifying Allspark. A small fragment, no larger than his hand, triangular in shape with edges as sharp as a blade, the Allspark shard no longer held the wondrous, beautiful details it had once displayed. It looked dull in the midst of his immense hand, grey and unspectacular. To one who did not know its history or the power it had once possessed, it was nothing more than a piece of rubble.

But Optimus knew better.

It was warm to the touch. The warmth it held was not that of a heated piece of metal, but that of a living thing, pleasant and wonderful. Optimus could feel the life within it.

And how fitting for it to feel such a way. For while it held its own warmth of life, it also gave the gift of life.

The abominations created in the Mission City Battle did not hold true sparks; they had not been granted individual, distinctive sparks with unique personalities. Instead, they held within them clusters of dying energy, each cluster with a short lifespan just long enough for them to wreak vicious bouts of havoc. There had been similar types of life forms in the war; they had been called drones. Mindless, obedient, and under the cruel command of Megatron, the drones had been ruthless and unmerciful towards their Autobot enemies.

Why the Allspark had suddenly created those drones in the midst of the Mission City battle was a mystery to Optimus. There had been no reason for it to send out random bursts of energy.

Optimus had seen the Allspark's _true_ life giving power only once. It had been a breathtaking experience, one that had made his own spark crackle with joy. That had been long ago, before the last war, in much happier times.

It grieved the Autobot commander to think that the Allspark would not be able to create the spark for a sparkling for a very, very long time. With so little femmes left (if not none at all) a sparkling would be a thing heard of only in tales of the past.

Optimus set the Allspark fragment in its container. The metal box had been hastily created by Sector Seven with the very material they had used to make the walls of their secret facility. The material absorbed the dangerous bursts of energy that the Allspark gave off every once in a while. Without it, the Allspark could have critically injured both the humans and Autobots in its range, as well as create new, mindless drones.

'_Optimus', _came Ratchet's voice over Optimus's comm. link, interrupting the commander's distressing train of thought.

'_Ratchet_,' Optimus responded. He raised his head. The medic sounded troubled. '_What is wrong_?'

'_I need you to come down to the med bay immediately'_, Ratchet replied.

'_Has something happened to Bumblebee?'_ The young scout was currently under Ratchet's care. His legs had been blown off during the Mission City Battle, and Ratchet was working on reconnecting them to Bumblebee's body. Had something gone wrong during the operation?

'_No_,' Ratchet said. '_Just get down here. Now_.'

The line cut off. Optimus frowned behind his mask and lifted himself off his chair, pushing back from his desk. As a second thought, he took hold of the Allspark's box. He did not feel comfortable leaving it unattended.

* * *

><p>Optimus hurried down the hall to the med bay. By his side was Ironhide, grumbling and muttering about stubborn medics. The weapons specialist had joined his commander when he spotted Optimus leaving his office. After asking what the rush was, he had contacted Ratchet to ask what was going on. The medic had responded with a simple "just get down here" and offered no more information.<p>

The two old friends turned a corner. On the wall was a small circular window displaying the barren landscape of the Nevada desert outside. After much tedious discussion with the United States government, the Autobots had been allowed to land the _Ark_ in the desert and use it as their base. The _Ark_ had been on Earth for only two solar cycles, "days" in human terms, one solar cycle after the battle at Mission City.

Personally, Optimus enjoyed their surroundings. The sun rises were always beautiful, and the sun sets just as spectacular. The plants and animals that made their living off of the desert were quiet interesting, and in many cases very pleasant looking. Ironhide, on the other hand, hated everything about the desert. The old mech always managed to work in a complaint about it whenever he spoke to Optimus.

Optimus glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of the quiet dusk. Ironhide followed his gaze and scowled.

"Hotter than the Pit out there," Ironhide grumbled. Satisfied with his hourly complaint, and unaware of the weary shuttering of Optimus's optics, he continued on his rant about Ratchet.

They reached the med bay. The doors slid open to admit them in, and both were greeted with an odd sight.

Bumblebee was sitting on an operation berth. His legs rested in a mound at the opposite end. Optics wide and glowing, the young Autobot was watching Ratchet with unwavering attention.

Ratchet, who _should_ have been working on Bumblebee, was bent double over the immobile, lifeless body of Jazz.

It was odd and disquieting to see Jazz's body motionless. In life, the cheery Autobot had been in constant motion. His face, now emotionless and a pale shade of grey, had never been without a grin, even in the worst of times. He had been the strong post in a crumbling community, a reminder of peaceful times where the days were not full of death and war.

"What's going on?" Ironhide asked. He stepped up behind Ratchet and peered over his shoulder at Jazz. His face held a pained look. "Leave him be, Ratchet. He's gone."

"No," Ratchet replied. "He's not."

Ironhide exchanged startled glances with Optimus. Optimus joined the other two by Jazz's side, incredulous. Jazz's chest cavity was wide open. Inside his chest, sporting the dull grey color of death, sat his spark chamber. Had he been alive, Jazz's spark would be glowing bright in the chamber. It was being held open with clamps, utterly empty.

Optimus frowned. "Explain yourself, Ratchet."

"Look," Ratchet said in a hushed tone. He pointed into the spark chamber. "What do you see?"

Ironhide peered into the spark chamber. With a frown, he turned his troubled gaze on Ratchet. "Nothing."

Ratchet looked at Optimus expectantly and found the Autobot commander watching him warily, concerned. "Ratchet. . . ."

"Look closer," the medic ordered persistently.

Optimus and Ironhide leaned forward. Uncertainly, they followed Ratchet's orders and narrowed their optics for a closer look. At first, as before, they saw nothing but grey metal, what little sheen the metal still held fading away beneath the bright panel lights above. Exactly what their friend wanted them to see was a mystery to them. It was, in fact, emotionally painful to be leaning over Jazz's lifeless body, staring into the very spot where his life force had resided.

And then, just as they were going to question Ratchet's motives, they saw something.

"Primus," Ironhide rumbled. He shuttered his optics in disbelief. Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing?

"Is that. . . ?" Optimus began uncertainly, wary of getting his hopes up. His optics must have been malfunctioning.

"A spark," Ratchet finished. "Jazz's spark. Well . . . what's left of it."

It looked like the center of a flame, dark blue and dancing energetically in the corner of the chamber, only a tenth of a whole spark. It seemed to be fluctuating, dimming and brightening erratically, dying out even as they watched. Had Ratchet not prompted them to look closer, they would never have seen the miniscule cluster of dying energy.

"Jazz is alive?" Bumblebee exclaimed. He scooted forward on his table and craned his neck for a better look.

"Barely," said Ratchet. He looked at the others grimly. "I should have looked closer at Mission City. I should have checked more thoroughly. It may be too late to save him now."

"Too late?" Bumblebee said. "It can't be too late! There has to be something you can do!"

"I've tried to come up with something," Ratchet said defensively, "I considered every procedure possible. Nothing I could think of will work."

"How'd this happen?" Ironhide asked. He was still leaning in, staring at Jazz's spark fragment in awe. "That injury should've killed him."

"It almost did," Ratchet explained. "But, somehow, his spark has hung onto life. It is dying out as we speak, but it _is_ alive."

"He was always a stubborn little fragger," Ironhide said with fierce pride. "Can't keep a good mech down."

"Is there any chance to restore his spark to its full capacity?" Optimus asked. He'd tried not to get his hopes up, but it was hard not to be hopeful with the evidence of life right in front of him. Just seeing the shimmering blue light was mind boggling, almost impossible to believe.

Ratchet hesitated. "As I said, I considered every possible procedure, but . . . it may be too late. There is simply no way to provide enough energy to bring him back. His spark is fading, and fading quickly. If we don't do something _now_, we will lose him. I . . . it is too late."

Ironhide's shoulders sagged. Bumblebee moaned and buried his face in his hands.

Optimus stared at Jazz's still body. That sleek visor that had once been a startling blue was a dark grey, void of the seemingly endless energy that Jazz had once possessed. There had to be a way. Jazz had clung to life for so long. Optimus would not allow his young friend's efforts to go unrewarded.

"Is it?" Optimus's mutter broke the dismal silence. Ratchet looked at him questioningly. He placed the Allspark's container on the table before Ratchet and met Ratchet's optics with a stern, meaningful gaze.

Ratchet took the container into his hands. He rotated it before his optics, frowning, considering.

"I have seen the Allspark create a spark only once," Optimus said. Ratchet looked at him apprehensively. He knew what Optimus was suggesting. "Ratchet . . . do you still have it?"

Bumblebee beeped in surprise. "You have an extra spark?"

Ratchet didn't answer immediately. He lowered the box and watched Jazz's dying spark dance in its chamber. "Not a spark. A protoform."

"A protoform?" Bumblebee cocked his head in confusion. "What's a protoform got to do with this?"

An uneasy silence met Bumblebee's question. Utterly confused, the scout looked to Ironhide questioningly. Ironhide shook his head; he was as clueless as Bumblebee.

Optimus waited patiently. Ratchet continued to stare at Jazz's spark, mind racing, unruly emotions bristling beneath his serene façade. He knew what his commander was suggesting he do, but he was a medic, not a scientist. What Optimus wanted was something better handled by a mech like Wheeljack or Perceptor, both esteemed Autobot scientists, and both lost somewhere in space. Ratchet was the only one of the three functioning Autobots on Earth remotely qualified to even try such a procedure.

Never had he felt so alone.

After a few more cycles of silence, Bumblebee decided he'd had enough of it, and worked on gathering the courage to repeat his question. Before he could figure out how to say anything without being scolded for speaking out of place, Ratchet spoke.

"I had a sparkmate before the war," he said stiffly. His optics were still trained on Jazz's spark; his face carried an unreadable expression. "She wanted a sparkling. I could not . . . when we tried to create a spark, I could not provide enough energy to complete the half she had created. I was. . . inadequate."

Ironhide clapped a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "Happens to the best of us."

Ratchet shrugged uncomfortably. "I tried, but no matter the extent of my efforts, we could never create a full spark."

"Before the war," Optimus continued when Ratchet lapsed into a grim silence, "The Allspark was housed in Iacon, where the Elite Council would grant special access to the Allspark to Cybertronian couples that wanted a sparkling but could not create one of their own."

Bumblebee, who had been born into the war and knew little of Cybertron before it was destroyed, listened eagerly.

"After the couple created a sparkling protoform and performed the tasks necessary to be granted permission to see the Allspark, the Elite Council allowed them to ask the Allspark for a spark."

"So Ratchet," Bumblebee began slowly, "Made a protoform and. . . asked?"

"The Allspark must have considered us worthy of a spark, because it gave us one almost right away," Ratchet explained. He fingered the edges of the box holding the Allspark absentmindedly. "We were ecstatic. She held the spark in her own spark chamber to allow it to mature enough for us to place it in the protoform. I remember touching her chassis and feeling it pulsing within her, warm and alive. . . ."

"What happened?" Bumblebee asked cautiously.

"I lost her to the war," Ratchet muttered after a moment of silence. "She died at Megatron's hands. And with her, our sparkling."

The bay fell silent. Bumblebee's spark was throbbing with pain. He'd never known.

"Ratchet, I . . . I'm. . . I'm sorry."

Ratchet didn't reply. He set the box down. "I never got rid of the protoform. I . . . I couldn't. We'd built it together."

Without another word, he disappeared into his office.

Bumblebee looked at the others questioningly. "Is he getting. . . ?"

Neither of the older Autobots answered. They all watched the office's door anxiously.

In Jazz's spark chamber, his life continued to dwindle away.

"In order to obtain a spark from the Allspark," came the bodiless voice of Ratchet from his office, startling the others. "The couple must provide as much energy as they can from their own sparks. And they must have a witness to the event as well, one they can trust to care for the spark should either of them offline."

Ratchet left his office with a bundle in his arms. Under closer inspection, Bumblebee noticed with a start that it was a tiny, silver body.

"The energy left from Jazz's spark should be enough to get started," Ratchet explained. He gingerly placed the small body by Jazz's side. "I will provide more if it is needed. I will need a witness, though."

He looked up at Optimus. Optimus smiled. "As before, I will be honored."

"Wait a minute," Bumblebee blurted, holding his hands out as if that could slow them down. "Wait wait wait . . . are you saying you're going to make Jazz into a _sparkling_?"

Ratchet snorted. "No, we are not trying to make him into a sparkling. The Allspark is not whole. I doubt it has enough power to create a sparkling."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to trick it," Ratchet said simply.

"You can't trick the Allspark!" Bumblebee paused. ". . . can you?"

"Theoretically, yes." Ratchet nodded. "It is damaged extensively. Hopefully, it will provide enough energy to jumpstart what is left of Jazz's spark. We need the protoform to lead the Allspark to the belief that it is creating a sparkling. Jazz's spark has shown considerable strength. If it is still willing to live, it should complete itself and retake control of Jazz's body. "

As if in response to Ratchet's words, Jazz's spark fragment jumped and crackled vigorously.

Bumblebee frowned. "What do you mean, 'theoretically'? You guys have talked about this?"

"It was a procedure invented during the war by Autobot scientists," Ratchet explained. "It was never practiced, but constantly discussed by a few of our more radical scientists. We've never been sure exactly how the Allspark works—the Elite Council didn't give many the chance to study it—but a few had theories of how it could be used, controlled, or manipulated.

"We were losing many of ours at the time this procedure was created," he continued. "And quite a number were in situations similar to Jazz's: sparks hanging on to life, but rapidly losing energy. The procedure was introduced as an answer to those problems, but with the Allspark in danger of falling into Megatron's hands, it never grew into more than just a theory."

"We now have the chance to try," Optimus added, locking optics with Ratchet. "The Allspark has always given life to our people. Perhaps, even in its current state, it may grant us with one last life giving gift."

Ratchet looked at the box in his hands. Ironhide crossed his arms and watched Optimus watching Ratchet, silent. Bumblebee switched his gaze from Ratchet to Optimus to Ironhide, then back to Ratchet anxiously.

"Ironhide," Ratchet finally said, "take Bumblebee out of my med bay. I don't want either of you in here."

Both Bumblebee and Ironhide started.

"But I want to stay!"

"You can't get rid of me. I want to be here for this."

Ratchet shook his head. "It's too dangerous. The Allspark could send out a burst of energy and frag up your systems."

"Oh, and what? You two are invincible?" Bumblebee demanded.

"Yes. Now go away."

It took a direct command from Optimus to finally get Ironhide and Bumblebee to leave. Ironhide rolled Bumblebee out on his table, both mumbling irritably to themselves, and parked the young scout right outside the med bay's doors. Before either could get in another good argument, the doors slid shut.

Ratchet rested his hands on the doors, listening to Ironhide and Bumblebee discuss stubborn medics and mean commanders. Smiling grimly to himself, he turned to Optimus.

"Ready?" He asked.

"I am," Optimus answered, opening the box's lid. He looked at Ratchet expectantly, optics clearly stating he understood Ratchet should he refuse to do the procedure. "Are you?"

Ratchet squared his shoulders. He hadn't done this in years. The last time was painful to remember. . . .

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Bumblebee fiddled with his detached legs. Ironhide leaned against the wall broodingly, arms folded across his chest. Neither spoke.<p>

An odd noise came from beyond the med bay doors. Ironhide and Bumblebee stared at the doors expectantly.

When nothing happened, they settled back into their routines.

Ironhide began to pace back and forth. Bumblebee tried playing a song on his radio, but after a scowl from Ironhide, he fell silent.

"Taking kind of long, aren't they?" Bumblebee wondered out loud after another megacycle of silence.

Ironhide paused. "It won't happen at the snap of the fingers, kid. These things can take a long fragging time."

"It's been fifteen megacycles. It can't take _that_ long."

"It can take a lot longer than that, kiddo."

"_Longer_? Why?"

"Ratchet needs to humble himself and ask the Allspark for a sparkling, and asking can take for fragging ever. Don't know how long it'll take for that damn medic to humble himself."

"How does the Allspark make the sparkling's spark?"

Ironhide grimaced. "You're not going to make me tell _that_ story, are you?"

Bumblebee made a startled noise. "Whoa! Uh, no, no. Ratchet already told me."

"Good. "

He continued pacing. Bumblebee went back to poking his legs.

"I wonder what's happening?" Bumblebee said some cycles later. He cringed under Ironhide's steely gaze. "What?"

"Stop talking," Ironhide snapped.

"Somebody's a little wound up." Bumblebee poked fun at his elder, but he was wound up tighter than a spring. What _was_ going on in there? Had they saved Jazz yet? Was he awake? What if the Allspark had done what Ratchet had said it would, and both he and Optimus were dead on the floor?

Bumblebee tried not to think of that. They were fine. They had to be. And Jazz was going to be fine, too.

He had to be.

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><p><strong>AN**: And so ends chapter one! Comments, constructive criticism and questions are all more than welcome.

And by the way, for anyone that cares, I am currently working on updating "I am Femme, Hear me Roar." It began as a oneshot as well, but after a very surprising amount of reviews, faves, and requests to continue it, I have decided to upgrade it to a multi chapter story. What I already have up is being edited; chapter two is under construction. Edits and the second chapter will be up by the end of the month.

Thanks for reading!


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